Catch Me, Gorgeous
by Razer Athane
Summary: So he looked over his shoulder, grinning, "Catch me if you can, gorgeous." -Oneshot-


Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Final Fantasy 9.

Author's Note: YOU KNOW WHEN YOU JUST HAVE A GIANT NOSTALGIC SURGE? That's me right now. I've loved FF9 for years, despite a lot of people I know hating it and just... had a huge nostalgic surge today and I wanted to write something for it. So here it is. I dunno how it happened etc but these two have always been my favourite in the game. Set pre-FF9 like a 'what if' situation, sort of. Enjoy!

* * *

**CATCH ME, GORGEOUS**

* * *

He squinted, hoping to see through the perpetual darkness that is Treno. He saw moving shadows, he heard the ear-splitting laughter of the rich and the near-silent growls of the poor. A smirk played at his lips as he emerged from the shadows and began to walk towards the source of the sounds.

Zidane's plan was the norm. Take from the rich, run away, and find someone who really needs the money – who will benefit from it. There is no middle class in this city, and it is something that has, at heart, always irked him. He was thankful for the darkness – he didn't want to be recognised, really, given that Tantalus was here to perform – but it made things harder to judge.

And, as always and as smoothly as ever, he passes through the crowd of snobs and slipped a hand into a woman's purse, gently lifting out a sack full of gil; or so he thought, because his wrist was seized. Pretty, snobby women in giant dresses don't do that, yet the grip is too soft to be male.

Zidane glanced at the individual from the corner of his eye. The person was a little taller than him, but he couldn't tell very much beyond that. Either way, he was firm in his decision to remain mute and sweep out the person's legs from underneath him or her, causing the hand to let go. He ran.

"Get back here!" the person roared, and that was most definitely a woman's voice. She was an abnormality, then, in this city.

So he looked over his shoulder, grinning, "Catch me if you can, gorgeous."

He passed the card stadium, jumped off the pathways and into the canals and then back out, and made his way to the rooftops. The woman matched him for every step, every motion until somehow, he found himself cornered at the edge of the city with no viable exit.

There was more light in this area, so as he withdrew one of his daggers and readied himself for a fight, the young thief took in more of her form. She was definitely tall, but more or less different. Her face was shielded by the shadow of a large, red hat and medium-length hair. To his surprise, she reached behind her and pulled out a spear, "It seems I caught you. Now you will give back what you stole."

Zidane watched her a little more. She was in a fighting stance, her overall demeanour was calm and she did not look the least bit exhausted from the chase, unlike him. He weighed up his odds – maybe this was better solved with words.

He sheathed his dagger and went through the usual routine – a charming smile, confident posture and an attempted, friendly approach. The last one didn't work because that spear was damn long and pointing right at him, and he valued his life a bit more than the gil he'd pinched, "I think there's been a misunderstanding here."

"What is there to misunderstand?" she remarked blankly, moving the spear closer to the stranger with a monkey's tail. He raised his hands up a little in submission, but she paid no mind, "You put your hand in my pocket and stole my money. And now I want it back."

"You see, I thought that you were... rich," he explained, jingling the bag around to realise that no, it was not very heavy, and therefore he had stolen from the wrong person, "But you're obviously a traveller instead, given the weight of this; so... I'm... sorry?"

There was silence for a moment before the woman's voice came back in full force, "You still have not returned what is mine."

"I will when you put that spear down," he answered calmly, hands still up.

The cold metal poked against his chest. The woman's message was clear – she would put the spear down once he returned the money.

Something moved in the distance. He couldn't see what it was, but if it was who he was hoping for, then he could get out of this ordeal no problem. Besides, he was reluctant to return the money – she could get some more on her travels to wherever. Given her nose and feet, she was from one of those settlements in the far north of the Mist Continent.

"You're a long way from home," he remarked idly.

"Stop talking," she hissed, jabbing him again.

And from the shadows came Blank and Marcus, to his surprise. It was the former who spoke, sword raised and very near her throat, "Hey you! Back off!"

Distracted by the sudden appearance of the two thieves, Zidane grabbed the spear and pushed it away, deflecting it and causing the woman to become unbalanced. He darted behind her, to the safety of Blank and Marcus, before grinning and waving his catch up and down, "You didn't catch me after all."

Something struck him in the chest, and it wasn't the woman. It was the sheer grief and desperation her eyes.

Blank and Marcus approached her again, gritting their teeth. She lowered her spear and flicked her head at them; and then, in a mighty leap into the sky, she vanished.

They waited for her to come back down, but she never did. Marcus mumbled something about her funny dress sense, while Blank called her a coward and turned to Zidane, asking about his haul. Zidane, though, did not answer, instead focusing on where she had been standing before she jumped.

He never felt so guilty.

* * *

Baku was talking about how the citizens of Lindblum were wising up, according to him, "They don't care about us as much anymore! I think they're seeing through our 'famous actors' guise... It was the right move to go to Treno all those months ago or we could've been broke by now!"

"Could've," Ruby chimed, brushing her hair, "I reckon we would've been just fine. No need to get greedy."

And Baku was on a tirade of sorts again, saying how they couldn't afford _not_ to be greedy in these hard times if they were to survive. Zidane watched on. Some sided with Baku and others sided with Ruby. Either way, he thought the conversation was dumb. Even if they ended up broke, they would've found a way to get themselves out of the rut.

Zidane stood, checking his pocket. The money he had stolen from that sad woman was still there, and he hadn't pinched a gil from it. When he looked back to the rest of Tantalus, they were expecting him to take a side, to answer. Instead, he smiled a little, "I'm going out for a drink."

As he wandered from the Theatre District and to Industrial District's pub, his mind continued to drift. What could've made someone so strong so sad?

When he arrived and nudged the door open, though, it felt as though someone had punched him in the face, because there she was, sitting at the bar and watching the drinks of those around her. She did not notice him.

And so, as always and still as smoothly as ever, he approached. She was too interested in the drink to her left and too busy ignoring the tales from the man, who promptly fell off the chair after throwing his hands into the air enthusiastically. The woman shook her head, and before she could look straight ahead of herself again, Zidane slid the sack in front of her, nonchalantly looking at the glasses opposite him.

"Hey gorgeous," he greeted cheerfully.

The woman looked at the sack, horrified. She then looked to him incredulously.

"Every gil is there. Didn't take a single one, honest."

She checked, finding that yes, every piece remained. Exhaling a murmured 'thank you', she removed some and pushed them across the table to the barkeep, asking for a drink, and pocketed the rest. She did not expect anything more from the stranger, not even an answer on why he returned what he had stolen, nor to be –

"Why are you so sad?"

- asked such a thing.

"I don't believe in sharing my tale with a stranger," she replied curtly.

"Name's Zidane," he said, jabbing a thumb into his chest.

"Freya."

"And now we're not strangers."

Freya smiled slightly, watching as the drink settled before her. She raised the glass to her lips and thereafter stared at her own reflection, "When you found me in Treno, I had left Burmecia to look for someone I care for. I've not found him since."

"You've given up just like that? Lame."

Freya shot him a spiteful look, tightening her grip on the glass' handle, "You wouldn't understand, thief."

"'Zidane', remember? We're on a first name basis now, gorgeous," cue the charming grin.

"Then I would dearly prefer it if you referred to me by my name instead of 'gorgeous'," she replied curtly, taking another long sip from her drink, "At any rate, I have only recently come here to settle down. Maybe he will come here. It is the largest city on the Mist Continent, after all."

He shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. His tail curled around the stool's leg during the silence, which he found uncomfortable; so he spoke up as she ordered another drink, "You'll catch him, just you wait. The world's not so big, right? I mean, we found each other."

Freya rolled her eyes and pulled her hat further down. Before she could take another sip of her drink, Zidane had pulled her off the chair by her wrist and was leading them both out of the pub, "What are you doing?!"

"Let's find your friend!" Zidane exclaimed, a bounce in his step. Freya wrenched her wrist free of his hand only for it to be then seized by his tail. Having expected the move, he looked over his shoulder and grinned, "Two people searching Lindblum's better than one. Let me help."

"And what do you care?"

Truth be told, he always liked helping people – but there was something about her being sad that he disliked. But he said none of that, instead opening the door and squinting his eyes at the light that ripped through, "I feel guilty for stealing from you. It's the least I can do. What are we looking for?"

"A Burmecian Dragon Knight."

"A name would help, you know."

Freya did not answer him.

* * *

It was a waste of time.

"This was ridiculous," she remarked, standing before the pub once more. Her fingers dug into her red robes as she gazed at her lonely shadow, "I was a fool to think he was here... He probably _is _dead."

Zidane's lips curved downward into a frown. He didn't mean to make her more upset, but from everywhere they looked and everyone – and he meant _everyone_ he pointed at – the same two letter answer greeted him stoically. He scratched the back of his head, "The world's a big place."

Freya shook her head and told him to go away and leave her alone. She re-entered the pub and slammed the door in his face, to his annoyance. Well it wasn't his fault that Sir Whatever vanished from her life – he probably caught her depressed virus or something. Humph.

Oddly enough he still felt bad and came up with a new plan to try and cheer her up. Straightening up and shoulders rolled back, he turned away, working out the details of his idea.

"Bet this'll work."

The next day, though, he found her at the same place, in the same chair and with the same moping expression. Zidane approached despite her harsh glares and gritty questions and held out some flowers with an equally sunny smile, "Cheer up, Freya!"

Freya remained silent for several moments before she uncharacteristically began to laugh. The reaction brightened his face – he _was_ a positive influence after all – before stuffing the flowers into her tiny hands. She looked them over, "What is this for? Aren't you twelve?"

"Thirteen," he answered defensively, "That doesn't mean I can't cheer up a friend."

"We've met twice..."

"Three times!"

Freya shook her head again, giving up in fighting the boy. She tucked them under her arm and thanked him before analysing him. He seemed genuine – though she didn't understand _why_ he had been stealing that day – and he seemed pleased that she was smiling, at least.

He pulled up a chair next to her and looked at the wood under his elbows, "Tell me about yourself."

So they sat there for hours, talking and learning about each other. He stole to live and to give back to those who needed it. The person she was looking for was someone she loved – much more than 'care' for. He couldn't remember his home. She always remembered rain at her own. He had plenty of friends. She had none.

"Don't be silly," he pointed at himself, "You've got me. Next time you feel sad, I want you to look at those flowers."

"Flowers wilt and die, though, Zidane."

"And so will your sadness."

With that, he stood and left, and he would not encounter her for another year and a half.

* * *

Same bar, same time, yet they were different people.

"I didn't expect to find you here," Freya remarked coldly, sitting beside him. He gave her a small wave but was much too interested in his own drink. She shielded her surprise – he was not his chipper self – before ordering one for herself.

Zidane was usually very talkative, but today, he did not say a word. He just drank and moped about. So instead, to take his mind off of whatever was upsetting him, Freya droned on and on about her adventures in the last year and a half – on how she had not heard anything other than 'he's dead', but how she still kept up hope.

"I went to Clerya," she continued, tracing her fingers around the rim of the glass, "But there was still no sign. They said they have not seen him in a long time, let alone any other war-hungry Burmecians. It was uncomfortable to be amongst them, but I could understand. They thrived on peace."

"I'm sorry you haven't found him," he said.

Freya smirked, "He speaks! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Zidane smirked as well for a fraction of a second before it vanished.

"Come on, gorgeous," she taunted lightly, "Smile for me."

Well, that got his attention. He straightened up and looked at her, a tad confused by the sudden compliment. He wasn't normally like this, but all he could think about lately was what he couldn't remember – and it never came. His home, his real family – not even a wisp of an image appeared in his mind. It was days like these that he felt... down.

He quirked an eyebrow at her when she lightly touched his shoulder, "Well, for a monkey-tailed thief, you are a looker; but that doesn't change the fact that I don't like seeing you frown, because it is unlike you. So, smile for me. It's like you said..." she watched as one appeared on his face gradually, "Flowers wilt and die, and so will your sadness."

She downed the remainder of her drink and stood up, "Catch me if you can; and if you do, we'll go do something that makes you happy."

He was smiling.

As she exited the pub and waited outside for the door to swing open, she adjusted her hat and remained poised in the middle of the street. And as she expected, the thief emerged, ready and up for the chase.

So they ran.


End file.
